Carol's Lament
by DiqazonQueen
Summary: Carol ponders life, loss, and love.


It was a moonlit night somewhere between winter and spring, and Carol Peletier wandered out of her hovel to Alpha's border to lament the latest casualty in her neverending succession of ill-fated towheaded children.

"Oh, Henry," she whispered, staring up at the top of the stake where his head had been mounted, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." A gentle breeze came up and blew softly through her tangled head and body (leg and armpit) hair. She was wearing a nightgown and no underwear. Her long gray pubes became even more knotted as they were caressed by the wind.

Carol wrapped her arms around Henry's pike and somehow managed to drag herself up to the top like a bear climbing a tree. In her most impressive physical feat since the days of wild cowgirl sex with her husband Ezekiel before she dumped him for no reason, she dug her long, talon-like toenails into the sides of the wooden stake and straightened her legs as much as she could, her bony thighs trembling with the effort. Her droopy coochie was hovering just a few centimeters above the tapered end of the spike. She dropped her hips slightly, trying hard to keep her balance, and let the sharp point push into her. She moaned like a mentally handicapped walker and piddled a little bit because she overestimated the strength of her pelvic floor muscles.

Before she could start sliding her middle-aged hot pocket up and down on the pike in earnest, a sudden hallucination of Henry's decapitated head brought her spontaneous masturbatory session to an abrupt halt. She presently pulled her perforated pussy off the pointy pike in shock, even though she knew her son wasn't really there. She rolled back towards Alexandria like Sonic the Hedgehog, the splinters embedded in her snatch piercing deeper into her vaginal walls with each rotation. She rolled right up to Siddiq's infirmary and crashed into the door with a loud bang, startling the doctor and making him yank some random female patient's mouth off of his D. He hurriedly stuffed her into a supply closet and bolted the door with one hand while zipping up his pants with the other. This happened all the time, through no fault of his own.

"Carol? How may I help you?" he asked as he opened the door. She got on her back, lifted her nightgown, and spread her legs, exposing her abused introitus. Splinters stuck out of it like porcupine quills.

Siddiq silently cursed his two years of medical residency, but went to fetch a speculum, flashlight, and tweezers. He used those damn speculums more often than he cared to and way more frequently than what would ordinarily be necessary, again through no fault of his own.

Carol shamelessly stared at his ass as he bent to get a pair of gloves out of the bottom drawer.

"You look like Jesus," she giggled as he inserted the speculum. "Not that gay guy who died a few months ago, I mean like the actual Jesus Christ." Siddiq had great hands. She queefed out a couple splinters. He ignored it and shone the flashlight between the prongs of the speculum to see just where the splinters were buried. They were wedged in there all the way up to her cervix, which appeared to be frowning at him.

Siddiq fully believed that occasions like this contributed to his worsening mental health, but he removed the splinters with his tweezers without incident anyway.

Carol couldn't stop looking at his perfect face. "You have such big, beautiful eyes." Predictably, she wondered what else of his was big and beautiful. Siddiq politely thanked her for the compliment, hoping she would leave now that her cunt was clear of splinters and not stick around and offer to blow him. He really wasn't interested.

Thankfully, Carol gave him a cutesy wave and sauntered out the door.

Siddiq flopped onto one of the hospital beds as soon as she left, just wanting to go to sleep. He'd let that patient out of the closet in the morning. He didn't want to be bothered at the moment.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he had a horrible PTSD nightmare, as he did every fucking night because there's no fucking therapists in the zombie apocalypse. Carol, who was loitering outside the clinic scratching her vulva and sniffing her fingers because she had nothing better to do, heard him fussing and barged back in to console him by crawling into bed with him. Siddiq was too defeated to object as she wrapped her spindly arms around his torso like a boa constrictor. He felt his sternum buckle. She was sniffing his hair, too.

"That's a good man," she cooed in his ear and, when he didn't react, she burped so epically and erotically that the whole room shook.


End file.
